Where Will You Go?
by muggleborn.dragon.ryder
Summary: Hiccup has a way of coping with Stoick's death, and he thinks it's a pretty good one. Unfortunately, Gobber doesn't agree with him. One-shot turned chapter story by request. Rated T for self-injury. Based off 'Where Will You Go' by Evanescence.
1. Chapter 1

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Well, this was based off 'Where Will You Go' by Evanescence. Such a good song :3 and and I know I ended it on an angsty note, instead of a happy one, but I needed to, okay. All my other HTTYD2 one shots ended happily, except, Splintered, I think. But you know that the story ends happily anyway, so it doesn't really matter. And Protects His Own was kinda bittersweet, I guess.**

**Anyway, there is self-injury in this! If this makes you uncomfortable, or could trigger you please spare yourself the hurt and do not read this. **

**Also, this is going to sound odd, but I wrote this because I read a story where Hiccup self-injured, only it featured a verryyyy different plotline, and I realized I never had written one where he self-injured, and I wanted to try. Also, I might write a second part, just to see Hiccup get his happy ending. I'm a sucker like that. **

* * *

It was in one of those rare times when Toothless was away, off frolicking with Stormfly and the others, for once just doing ordinary dragon things instead of hanging around a boring human like me all day. And, to be honest, I was kind of glad he was gone. Not because I didn't want to see him, or because I didn't want to be around him. I just…didn't think it would be a very good idea for him to see me right now.

I knew if he saw this, if he saw me looking upset, he would guess that I had begun thinking about my father, and he would nudge my hand comfortingly, but he would never understand that it wasn't really him I blamed anymore. You see, I'd been thinking about it a lot and I'd come to realize that I was the one who should be holding the guilt on my shoulders. If I hadn't gone charging off in search of Drago Bludvist in the first place, none of this would have happened, and Dad would still be here. I wouldn't have had to make a speech as I watched his funeral barge leave me behind. He'd still be there, solidly and dependably beside me, maybe giving me that stern look still because he wanted me to be chief, but I think he would have left me alone about it after a bit.

Speaking of being a chief… I sighed as I saw the people outside the forge, all lined up. _"A chief's first duty is to his people." _I wasn't doing a very good job of being chieftain, and everybody could tell. When I passed people by in the streets, they didn't sound admiring or awed when they spoke to me. They just sounded wearily sympathetic and pitying, because oh, that poor boy lost his father and isn't he just so strong, holding up under such circumstances…

I clenched my hand into a fist, feeling the nails digging deep into my palm, but it wasn't good enough. I needed more. "I think I left my designs for this saddle in the backroom, Gobber," I called to him before ducking behind the curtain separating my private room from the rest of the forge. "I'll be right back."

Gobber happily accepted the excuse, but then, I knew he would. Over the past few months, I had kind of become an expert on telling people lies, telling them that I would be right back, that I just had to duck away for a quick second. You see, I used to confine it to my bedroom, and tell myself I was never, ever allowed to do it outside of that tiny room. But the urge grew stronger and stronger, until I wasn't sure how I had gone even a couple hours without it.

I pulled the curtain shut behind me, and within seconds, I was quietly dismantling my armor, undoing buckle after buckle, cursing myself and asking Odin why I had had to make this stupid thing so complex…I had never thought I'd need to get it off so quickly.

I finally freed my torso, which was all I really needed, and then I rolled up the sleeve of my tunic underneath, bending down beneath my old work desk and pulling out the knife. Its blade was dark, so dark I could barely see my own reflection. But I saw my eyes. And for a split second, I hesitated. And then I pressed the metal into my skin.

I made the first cut slowly, almost savoring the pain. It hurt, but it cleared my head, made it easier to breathe. And I would take a bit of physical pain over the awful alternative. I did the second a bit quicker, because I felt that Gobber might start wondering where I was if I didn't get back soon, and I'd already taken enough time working my way out of the armor, but two cuts weren't nearly enough to drive it away completely. A third and fourth followed before I heard the blacksmith's voice. I was standing in the middle of the room with my eyes closed, knife in one hand, feeling warm blood trickling down my wrist and cold metal pressing into the skin of my arm.

But the moment Gobber cried, "Lad!" my eyes snapped open, watching in horror as the curtain began to rustle.

_Oh, Thor, no, _I pleaded silently with the god of thunder, freezing in place as I stared down at the knife. What would this look like to Gobber? He would question it, he would probably demand to know why I was doing it, and then I would be in an even bigger mess than before…

Just thinking of all the horrible possibilities made me feel like giving myself a quick fifth one, but all I had time to do was drop the knife on the ground and yank down my sleeve. I didn't want Gobber questioning why I was trying frantically to pull on my armor, so I just kicked the knife behind me, hopefully out of sight.

"Lad, your notes are right here—why don't you have your armor on?" Gobber stopped, looking rather curiously at me. He was right to question this – I rarely ever took my armor off anymore.

"Um…" I was suddenly and intensely aware of the knife at my feet. "I got too hot, so I decided to take it off."

"Oh. Well, as I was saying, your notes are—wait, you're bleeding!" He pointed to my arm and took several steps closer.

I backed quickly away, walking until I crashed into the wall. Sure enough, I could see a bright red stain appearing on my sleeve, the cuts I had just made bleeding through. "No, I think it's just dried from the battle, I haven't really washed my clothes, Gobber, no!"

Gobber had grabbed my hand, completely ignoring my protests, and was now rolling up the sleeve. For a second, he stared down at the scars in abject horror; next second, he was whispering. "What have you done?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" I yelled, trying vainly to yank my arm away, but Gobber held it fast.

"Why on earth would you do this, Hiccup?" he demanded, voice steadily gaining volume, coloring with anger. He locked his burning gaze on me.

"None of your goddamn business!" I howled angrily. "Stop it, let me go!"

"This is my goddamn business!"

"No, it isn't! Stop it, Gobber, and let me go!"

"I'm telling your mother!"

"No, you're not!"

"Well, I'm not letting you do this anymore!"

"Letting me? I'm doing what I want, I don't need your permission, or Mom's!"

"Oh, tough love! We're telling her anyway." And then, he held the hand not pinning me to the wall out in front of him, as if expecting me to give him something.

"What?" I snapped.

"I want your knife."

"Don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"None of your goddamn—

"_I want that knife, Hiccup_."

I looked away. "You're standing on it."

He grabbed it up from the ground, pocketing it.

"That's mine!"

"And now, it's not. C'mon, Hiccup. We're telling your mother."

* * *

"Hiccup? Show her your arm."

I studied the table.

"Hiccup, what's going on?" Mom seemed upset and slightly alarmed, looking from me to Gobber and back again.

"Your son has something to tell you. Or show you, more like. So go on, Hiccup, show her your arm."

I rolled my eyes, stretching it out in front of her on the table.

"Turn it over," Gobber ordered.

I gritted my teeth, reluctantly rolling it over so the scars and new cuts showed instead.

Mom gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Hiccup…" Then she raised a horrified gaze to me, but I looked down at the tabletop, pretending to have found a very interesting wood chip as I talked.

"Okay, great, you all know, _can I go now_?"

"No," Gobber snapped. "I think you and your mother have some things to work out."

"Hiccup…" she leaned forward across the table towards me, her green eyes dark. "Why would you do something like this…?" She ran a finger over the scars gingerly before her gaze returned to me questioningly.

I blew out a long breath and shrugged.

"So, you just did it for no reason?" Gobber spat, seething.

Mom sent him a sharp look. "Hiccup…?"

"I miss him," I mumbled, taking my hand away and studying the scars. _Just get me through this and get me back upstairs. Please, I have another knife up there._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Where Will You Go?**_

**A/N: Ugh, okay, so I made this into a chapter story because I got a surprising amount of requests. I don't know who suggested Gobber...doing what he does in this chapter, but whoever you are, thanks for the idea. It gave me a clue as to what could happen next. There'll be more chapters after this one.**

* * *

Mom and Gobber, they didn't talk _to_ me. They talked _at_ me. The whole time she cleaned the cut, Mom talked at me. And it was mostly stupid stuff, like, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"or "Hiccup, honestly, thank Thor Gobber found you when he did!"and "Do you bandage these cuts properly?"

"Yes," I snapped a little at that last question. Honestly, how stupid do you have to be? You cut, you clean, you bandage. It's as simple as that.

"Something tells me you don't appreciate how serious the situation is," Gobber put in.

I glared at him. "It's no big deal, so stop acting like it is!"

"Whether you like it or not, Hiccup, self-harm—

I flinched, then shifted irritably.

"What?" Gobber demanded, stopping short to look at me.

"I don't like that word," I mumbled.

"What? _Self-harm_?" He emphasized it, in a rather hard voice.

I snapped. "It's not self-harm!"

"Grabbing a knife and taking it your own skin is self-harm!" Gobber yelled as Mom put the last bandage on and stood, putting a gentle hand on the blacksmith's chest, then mine.

"Calm down, both of you," she said in her soft accent. "Gobber, if Hiccup doesn't like something, you should not be throwing it in his face. You're acting like a child. And Hiccup…" And then she turned to me, her eyes speaking for her. I found I couldn't meet her gaze.

"Promise me you'll stop," she whispered, her hand traveling down my chest and giving my hand a small squeeze.

"Promises don't mean anything," I mumbled, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I pretended to have found a fascinating crack in the wall as I spoke. "I need to get upstairs."

Mom's shoulders visibly slumped, and I hated myself for making things so hard on her. Things were bad enough right now, after everything that had happened without adding me in.

"You're not going up there, young man," Gobber snapped, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. "Not until we've gotten every last knife, anyway."

"Seriously?!" My voice came out much louder than I'd meant it to. "No! You're crossing the line—

"You broke our trust," Gobber intoned sternly.

I snorted. "You can't be serious! Broke _your_ trust? How did I break _your_ trust when—?"

"Maybe by cutting your own stupid ass!"

"That's enough, Gobber!" Mom glared fiercely at the blacksmith.

"Actually, it's remarkably difficult to cut your own ass," I remarked.

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Gobber said venomously.

"No, I wouldn't know," I snapped. "I've never tried to cut there!"

"Wouldn't surprise me if you had!"

"Gobber!"

"Either way, I want your knives!"

"Don't have any more!"

"Oh, we'll see about that." And Gobber stomped out of the room, up the wooden stairs and into my bedroom, my safe haven.

"Gobber!" I screamed, frustrated beyond belief. "Get out of my room!"

"No!" He hollered back bravely, so I followed him up.

When I reached the landing and looked inside my bedroom, I saw Gobber running his hands along the floor beneath my bed. Anger licked my insides. "_Get out of there_!"

Gobber glared up at me. "If you weren't so stupid, I wouldn't be having to do this!"

"You get out of there right now!" I screamed. "I'm telling you, get out!" I rushed into the room, trying to rip his hands away, but I wasn't strong enough and he moved easily from the bed to the closet. There was nothing in my closet, either, and nothing in my top two bedside table drawers.

The fiery anger burned stronger than ever when he took my scissors and pocketed them.

"Those are mine!" I yelled, and he yanked out three small knives from the bottom drawer as well.

"Why do you have so many?" he asked incredulously, as Mom joined us on the landing.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked softly. "Yelling at him isn't going to do any good, Gobber. You're just making it worse."

"Well, if we don't stop him, your son's going to kill himself."

Rage flared in my stomach. "I'm _not_ suicidal!"

"Then stop acting like it!"

"I'm not acting like it!"

"Oh, so, _this_ is just a fluke?" Gobber demanded harshly, making a slashing motion across his own wrist.

My cheeks flushed. "Stop it!"

He glared at me for a moment.

"Hiccup. Gobber. Both of you. I need both of you to stop." Mom finally interrupted us, stepping carefully in between us. "Yelling at him doesn't do any good, Gobber, I said this already. You're only shaming him."

"I'm not ashamed."

"I would be, if I was in your shoe," Gobber bit out.

"Thank Thor you're not, then."

"Both of you," Mom's voice turned a little harder, a little colder. "I need both of you to please act your age. And Gobber – try to remember that Hiccup is the child here, not you."

"I'm not a child," I interrupted.

"Then stop acting like one," Gobber glowered.

"Gobber." If looks could kill, the blacksmith wouldn't have been standing there, judging by Mom's fierce expression. "We need to help Hiccup, not yell at him."

"I don't need help," I snapped.

"Then why are you self-injuring?" Gobber snapped right back.

I shifted uncomfortably again. I didn't like that word, either. "Doesn't mean I need help."

"Hiccup…" Mom took my hand, and led me down to the bed. I collapsed onto the wooden structure and she knelt in front of it, our intertwined hands in my lap. "Why would you do something like this?" She brushed my hair out of my eyes.

I stared down at our hands, unable to look at her. Gobber's fierceness, all his yelling…that I could understand. But I couldn't take Mom's gentle tone, because it was hurting me worse than anything Gobber could have said. Without words, she was telling me that she was disappointed in me, that she had expected better of me. I shrugged. "I…I told you at the table…I miss him. I miss him, and…and it's just…I'm supposed to be chief. It's not the Viking thing to talk things out, in case you hadn't noticed. It's better for everyone if I just—

"_No_." Mom shook her head vehemently. "No, Hiccup, don't think like that, not for a second. You can talk to me, or Gobber, or Toothless, or Astrid. You have so many people here who care about you, why didn't you just talk to them when you started grieving?"

"I'm not like you, Mom," I whispered. "I'm not like you, I'm not good with words. It's easier to just…" I trailed off, unable to state exactly what I was thinking.

She ran a gentle finger over the cuts and scars. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I…well…does it matter?"

Her eyes grew sad. "Hiccup…"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. A couple days after…you know, everything that happened."

"Oh." She put a hand to her mouth, squeezing mine tightly. "Hiccup, you need to stop. Promise me you'll stop."

I met her eyes, and I hesitated for a split second, wondering if I could make the promise, give up my only form of relief since everything that had happened. "I…I…" I knew I could have just pretended to be really into stopping and then continuing in secret, but the thing was, I didn't know if I could lie like that to my mom. I didn't know if she had one of those built-in bullshit detectors that other moms had, but it was more my stupid conscience that wouldn't let me lie to her. Gobber, I could've lied to. I could have fibbed to the moon and back, considering how angry I was with him at the moment.

But my mom? I couldn't promise her this.

I was already planning my next cut, imagining where it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Honestly, guys, I'm just sorta farting around with this fic right now. I'm trying to think of a new direction to take it in. One of my readers suggested that I do it where he cuts too deeply and faints from blood loss and the whole village finds out and much angst ensues, and I really like the idea, but I kinda feel like the story should end once the whole village knows, and I'm kind of attached to this story. I don't want to end it too soon, so I'm basically just gonna make Hiccup have random angst and cut for a couple more chapters until I decide I can end it XD and if you guys have any ideas for where this fic could go, don't hesitate to drop me a review! Even if I don't always use the ideas, because some don't spark my creative interest, I love reading them! And just drop me a review period because I love getting them :3 I'm greedy like that, and reviews let me know that people like my work. **

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Mom and Gobber left me in my room, stepping outside to discuss something. They left the door open, as if they thought that I was going to start it up again just because they were out of the room. I wasn't stupid enough to do it when someone was so nearby twice, especially not in the same day. They kept their voices low, and I found I couldn't really care what they were saying, although I did hear a couple fragmented words.

"…Astrid?"

"…No, I can't see why…"

"You don't understand…"

"I see that, but…"

I lay down, my head hanging off one side of the bed, my legs on the other side, feet – or foot – still touching the floor as I gazed up at the ceiling, running through the events of the day in my mind. I knew it was wrong, I knew that I should have thought of Mom, and how hard things were on her before thinking of myself, but all I wanted to do was shut them out of my room. Never let them back in. Cut until I had no more skin left to cut, make myself bleed until I had no more blood left. My mind flitted briefly to why they would mention Astrid when this didn't involve her, and my blood froze in my veins. Were they thinking of telling her? No, that wasn't fair!

I knew it was a childish thought, but I couldn't help thinking it. It just wasn't fair that they would even think of telling Astrid when this didn't even involve her whatsoever. She didn't need to know this. She would look at me differently if she knew. Would she be like Gobber and accuse me, or be like Mom, patient and understanding? Both seemed equally bad. I didn't want Astrid to know, period. The thought of Toothless knowing was even worse. He would be inspecting every cut and chewing me out in his dragon tongue, trying to lick my face as if grooming me would make it better, comforting and lecturing and loving all in the same moment. He would be doing all this before I could even say overprotective.

I sighed deeply as I thought of it, intensely grateful that Mom and Gobber were away from me, even for a moment. If I couldn't cut, I just wanted to go away somewhere, escape the confines of Berk somehow. But the problem was, the fastest way to escape was on Toothless, and he would surely smell the blood. Not to mention it was always so hard to be around him when I was thinking about my father. I knew it was unfair. I knew it wasn't his fault. I remembered what Mom told me. _"Good dragons, under the control of bad people, do bad things." _

Knowing it wasn't his fault didn't help, not really. It had still happened. I was working on what I called realizing that, and Mom called it forgiveness. I wasn't sure I liked that, though. I didn't like using the word forgiveness for what I had to do with Toothless. It made it sound like we had had a fight or something, and I hated when we fought, even though it was rare.

I sighed again as I came sharply back to the present, listening to the voices whispering just outside my door.

"No, we don't need to do that." Mom. She sounded firm and decisive. "It will only anger and shame him further. It'll make him feel like we don't trust him."

"Well, I don't trust him." Gobber still sounded a little angry, but notably calmer than he had been in the forge. "I mean, he was cutting himself, Valka! _Cutting himself_! How can anybody be expected to trust him again?"

"Gobber, listen," she dropped her voice a little lower, and I scooted unconsciously forward on my bed, tilting my head to one side to hear better. "If we make him feel like we still trust him, it'll be better for him. The one thing we need to avoid is making him ashamed or angry with us. Anger and shame are a bad combination, and they'll just lead to more cutting."

"No, they won't," Gobber sounded satisfied with himself now. "I got every knife out of his room and work area. If he wants to cut, he has to get a knife from the forge, and I'm always there."

_No, you didn't get every knife, _I thought triumphantly to myself, remembering where I'd hidden the last one. When I'd hidden it the first time, I'd hidden it because I was terrified that Toothless would see it, and guess why I had it. I wasn't completely sure how much Toothless knew about human matters like cutting, but I didn't want to risk it. Now, I was intensely grateful that I'd hidden it somewhere away from Gobber's eyes.

The tiniest hint of guilt pricked at my conscience when I thought of what Mom would say if she knew I still had one more knife, and didn't say a word about it. She wanted me to still feel trusted. My guilt worsened, and I slowly withdrew the knife from where I had hidden it, within my pillowcase, carefully eased inside, the fabric folded over an extra time to conceal the blade. I pulled it out, dancing it over my wrist. I had no intention of doing it, I just…wanted to feel the metal against my skin, I guess.

The feeling assured me that I was doing the right thing by not saying anything. If telling Mom I still had one more knife would get her to treat me differently again, then I definitely wasn't telling. I placed the knife carefully back within the pillowcase, folding the fabric over again to hide it and keep it in place. It was lucky that I did this when I did, because the door, which had been drifting shut as Mom and Gobber kept pulling it closed, trying to make sure that I didn't overhear, entered the room once again.

I closed my hand into a fist, wishing I'd given myself just one more, quick cut. Seeing the anger in Gobber's eyes and the disappointment in Mom's seemed ten times harder now.

Mom came right over and sat beside me on the bed again, thankfully at a safe distance away from the pillow, and she put her hand on mine. "Are you alright?"

I nodded before rising to my feet. "I, um…I need to get the rest of my armor from the forge, remember?" I started for the door, but Gobber added, "I'll come with." I tossed him a glare.

"Just so you know, I'm not going there to try and kill myself," I snapped. "I'm just going there to pick up my armor."

"And another knife?" he demanded coolly.

"I thought you knew me better than that," I snapped. "When I make a promise, I keep it, no matter what."

"I thought I knew you better, too! I thought I knew you better than to do something as stupid as this!"

"You don't understand!" My anger flared again. My nerves were already frayed from how stressful and upsetting the day had been, and now I was exploding over everything, even though I was normally a pretty even-tempered person. "People only call it stupid when they don't understand it!" I ripped open the door again, stalking as fast as I could down the stairs, praying that Gobber wouldn't follow. I wasn't going to the forge to cut; that would just be proving him right, and that was the last thing I needed.

Thankfully, Gobber wasn't the one I heard walking behind me on the stairs; it was Mom. I gave her a quick sideways glance. "Is this how it's going to be, then? Running a simple errand is going to end in me taking an escort everywhere I go?"

"No," Mom replied with admirable dignity. "I'm coming with you just in case you need to talk. I'm not here to stop you from cutting, although I certainly do hope that my presence discourages you from doing that."

I bit my lip, feeling a little bad for lashing out at her. Gobber's reaction wasn't her fault. "Sorry," I mumbled my apology as quietly as I could, reaching the front door and opening it.

"It's alright." Mom didn't even look at me when she spoke her forgiveness. "Honestly, Gobber's reaction was foolish. I'm sorry that he treated you like that. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

I dropped my eyes to the floor, but I couldn't think of a response, so I just stayed silent as I stepped out. I blinked a little, the sunlight startlingly bright after the darkness of my bedroom. Lately, I had begun to block my view of the sky with an old quilt. I didn't like looking at the outside world when I cut. I felt like it was an action that deserved only absolute darkness. I pushed myself onward, reminding myself that every step I took was one step closer to my next cut. I just had to make it through this.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: SURPRISE**

**Yes, this is the surprise. Updating all of my eighteen in-progress fics at once. It was pretty crazy, but I did it, and it's here, and good day to you all! I had tons of fun doing this, so I hope you guys have tons of fun reading this!**

**"WHEREEEEE WILL YOU GOOOO**

**WITH NO ONE LEFT TO SAVE YOU FROM YOURSELFFFFF" **

**You know whyyyy I'm singing that? :D BECAUSE I HAVE A NEW IDEA FOR THIS STORY AND OH MY GOSH SO ANGSTY EEEEEEEEEEEEEE erm, sorry to poor Hiccup, though xD**

**And also, I'm thinking I might start naming chapters. So this one is christened 'The Loneliest Years'. Yep. I never said the titles would be smart - I just said that they would be titled. And, also, I understand that it's not canon, but I really hope I made at least one person lose their head by making Hiccup take off his clothes xD**

* * *

To her credit, Mom didn't act like she was watching me when we went to get my armor. She pretended to inspect the weapons bedecking the walls and the dragon saddles set up for sale, but I knew the truth: I saw her eyes following me when I ducked into the backroom. I found my armor still perched upon the desk, as if nothing had happened to me, as if I had just put down the knife and nothing had interrupted me. I picked up the shirt and began buckling it on again, making sure to set everything just right. I still had one more knife in this backroom but I didn't dare grab it while Mom was in here, too – I half-expected her to pat me down when I walked out.

Scowling at the thought, I stepped out of the backroom just as Astrid, Toothless and Stormfly entered the forge, the two dragons squeezing themselves in.

"Finally!" Astrid huffed as she made her own way into the building. "I was looking everywhere for you! Hung the Horrible was looking for you, he kept insisting that Rhonda the Random stole his yak, and of course she keeps threatening to run him through with a pitchfork if he accuses her again…"

I groaned and dropped into the nearest seat with a sigh. "I'll be right there."

"Are you alright?" Astrid took the seat next to me and found a piece of my hair, beginning to make yet another braid.

"It's been a long day," I replied with a sigh, gently pushing her away and rising to my feet. "I'd better go see what Hung and Rhonda have to say for themselves – hopefully, I'll be able to work something out."

Toothless came up to me, his green eyes wide and shiny, standing on his hind legs but crouching slightly to fit within the forge's confines. I offered him a smile, but all the same, I tucked my arm carefully behind my back, feeling a tiny pinprick of guilt when I imagined his reaction. Not that he would ever know, of course. It was my goal to never let him know anything like this. I walked to the door, sighing as I considered the newest chiefing problem.

On any other day, a disagreement like this one would have seemed simple to me, and easy to handle; but today, which had already felt like the longest day of my life, I was emotionally exhausted, and I didn't have the energy to deal with anything more than my own problems right then. I sighed, playing with one of the buckles on my armor.

"Hey, you okay?" Astrid appeared to have caught up with me, and rested a hand on the shoulder of my armor, her bangs swept back out of her eyes. I met her gaze for a few moments before looking away again, shrugging off her hand.

"I'm fine," I lied easily, quickening my pace and hoping she would fall behind. "I'm just really tired is all. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Upon hearing this, Toothless fixed me with a stern, almost motherly look and Astrid raised an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to managing your time wisely?" she asked. "You were awake for, I think, five nights in a row in those first few days of being chief and you kept promising you were going to find a way to work everything out…"

"I have been managing my time wisely," I replied defensively, running my fingers through my hair. "It wasn't anything to do with the village, I just honestly couldn't sleep last night. I'll sleep tomorrow, don't worry." I glanced back at the forge, a little anxiously, to see Mom emerging from it, catching sight of me. To my surprise, she left me alone with Toothless, Astrid and Stormfly, heading for the house again instead.

I yawned, putting a hand over my mouth and turning back to speak with Astrid. "I'll be fine, though. I'll get some sleep tonight." But I knew what I'd be doing the instant I reached the safety of my bedroom tonight, and it wasn't sleeping. I glanced down at my arm, now hidden by leather armor and silver buckles, and I clenched my hand into a fist.

* * *

Although I fooled Astrid with my smiles and excuses, although I fooled Snotlout, the twins and Fishlegs, and although I fooled the whole damn village, there was one person whom I could not fool, no matter how hard I tried. Toothless seemed to know that something was wrong with me, but he just couldn't figure out what. He kept nudging me, or cooing consolingly whenever he could, following me around the whole day, even though I tried to tell him to be a dragon and do dragon things. The other dragons probably thought him strange, hanging around a human all day when they preferred their own kind.

But Toothless wouldn't listen; he just kept staring sadly up at me, silently asking what was wrong. I played dumb, pretending I couldn't understand him, even as I crawled into bed much later that night, feeling the exhaustion seeping down into my very bones. It wasn't just emotional anymore, the tiredness; it was physical and mental, as well.

I slowly undid the buckles of my armor, remembering the knife tucked carefully inside my pillow and wishing Toothless wasn't here, so I could grab it out and do what I'd been longing to do all day. The other dragons normally slept in the stables, and I was now wishing that Toothless did so, too. I couldn't ask him to leave, however; he would know for a fact that something was wrong then, if I expressed a desire to be away from even him, and he wouldn't rest until he discovered what it was.

I pulled off the top of my armor, pulling my sleeves back down when they threatened to slip up, but luckily, my dragon noticed nothing; he was curling up on the floor, tucking his wings and tail close to his body as he got comfortable. He then turned his attention to me as I began undressing, slipping off two layers of clothing before getting to the third, the thinnest, and sitting down on the edge of my bed with a heavy sigh.

My father had never shown the strain of running a village, at least not around me. He was ten times the chieftain I would ever be, and I longed to have him with me now, to ask him if I was doing alright, if I was dealing with things the way he would have dealt with them.

Thinking of my father only increased my desire to cut, and as I knew I couldn't do that tonight, I lay down upon the bed and pulled the thin brown blanket up to my waist, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. I pretended that I didn't see Toothless staring at me, still trying to figure out what was wrong and growing increasingly frustrated when he couldn't. And my mother's words kept repeating themselves in my head, over and over. _"Promise me, Hiccup…promise me you'll stop…" _

But if I stopped, what would I do? My excuse that I wasn't good with words was just that – an excuse. I _was_ good with words. I knew how to talk to people. But Vikings didn't do feelings. Emotion was not supposed to be a word in our vocabulary. And besides that, how could I so calmly discuss what had happened with Toothless, the very person who had made it happen?

I knew that he couldn't help it, of course, but every time he was near when I thought about my father, he just made everything worse. And it felt horrible and lonely to blame my best friend for something that had happened, to know that the only person in the world who understood me had been the one to take so much away from me at the same time. I knew that it wasn't really his fault, that it had been the alpha and Drago controlling him, and that he hadn't done it of his own free will, but I still found that I isolated myself from Toothless more and more frequently nowadays. I knew that my subtle quests for aloneness upset him, but I couldn't help it – I needed to be alone sometimes. I needed to be away from him, where I could think of my father and remember my father and accept that it wasn't Toothless' fault, but it just became harder and harder with each passing day.

And Astrid? Astrid was a close confidante of mine, yes, but I could never imagine talking with her about my father. I would have to address the years before if I wanted to truly talk about him. The years before Toothless, the years before Astrid liked me, the years before I had friends, the years before Dad loved me. And those years, the loneliest years, were ones that I didn't particularly want to think about.

My mom was definitely not on the list of people I could talk to, considering that to her, he wasn't just my father – he was her husband, too, and they had been separated for twenty years. When she had finally convinced herself to once again become part of a family, he had been snatched away from her just like that. And now she was left with me, just me. And I was left with only one half of a family again. But this time, the other half was never coming back.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: I don't even know why I like this chapter. It's boring and uneventful, and any sign of a plot only comes in at the very end, but it's a start, eh? Plus also, I'm really liking this story and I just don't know why. I really like the angst Hiccup is currently having xD plus also, you know what I just realized? Eret! I forgot Eret! Although I do imagine that he'd hang around Astrid more than Hiccup, as it was her dragon who showed him the true meaning of loyalty. And what should this chapter be called? 'Hiccup angsts'? **

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My dreams that night weren't exactly restful. I firstly dreamed of Gobber, yelling at me about the cutting, but halfway through, he transformed into Dad. And Dad just looked so disappointed, I could hardly stand it.

"Please," I gasped, tears pouring from my eyes down my cheeks. "Please, Dad, I just want you to come back, and then I'll stop, but I…I want you here…"

At these words, Dad vanished from my dream again, replaced instantly by Gobber, but I screamed at him to come back, sobbing and clawing at the air to bring him back.

I awoke with a start, the word 'daddy' dying on my lips, my eyes and cheeks wet. Reaching up and touching my face revealed what I already knew: I had been crying in my sleep.

Now that I was awake, I simply lay back in the bed, listening to the thunder and rain outside, the awful howling racket, and the lightning illuminating the sky outside my window in short bursts. I felt the tears building in my eyes, the urge to cut rousing me from my position. I glanced at Toothless, fast asleep on the little patch of wood serving as his bed. I slowly eased the knife out from my pillowcase, rolling up my sleeve.

Would Toothless smell the blood? He never had before, but then, the blood had been drying all the times before. I hesitated, the tip of my knife barely touching my skin. Coming to a decision, I rose from my spot on the bed, slipped the knife in my sleeve and crept quietly out onto the landing.

From my place at the top of the stairs, I could see the darkened, lighting-lit living room, the room I had gazed down upon every morning of my life for twenty years. But without the knowledge that my father was asleep in the bedroom downstairs, the house didn't feel like mine. The creaking of the stairs was no longer friendly and familiar; the sound was now alien to my ears. I reached the bottom of the stairs, sped across the living room and reached the front door, slipping outside gratefully, drawing in deep breaths of rain-soaked air.

There was nowhere in the village for me to really go at this hour; judging by the sky alone – and this was difficult to do, as it was storming – I was guessing it was about four o' clock in the morning, and I couldn't very well wake Toothless and go flying at this time of night. I mean, I could, but the village was already quietly wondering if what had happened to my father had driven me mad, and I didn't want to encourage that.

And, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was dealing with something that wasn't just bigger than myself, but bigger than Toothless, so big even he couldn't help me through it. I pulled the knife out of my sleeve again, remembering the look on Mom's face, her shock and horror at what I was doing…

Tears pooled in my eyes again, but I impatiently brushed them away. I glanced uneasily at the door, firmly shut behind me. "Sorry, Mom," I whispered, knowing that my soft words wouldn't penetrate the rain or thunder or wood separating us. I raised the knife and dragged it across my skin, my breathing constricting oddly as I watched the blood glimmer and shine in the half-light of the storm. I knew I should have stood up, stepped back in the house, bandaged the cut and gone back to sleep, but I let the blood drip slowly from my wrist, letting the tears fall for the first time in a long time. The instant everything with Drago had been settled and I felt like I could take a spare moment, I had collapsed in my bedroom and cried, part of me pushing Toothless away and another part pulling him closer, and yet another part uncertain as to what to do.

This was the first time I had cried that hard since, staring out at the rain and thinking of my dad, tears pouring down my cheeks almost as quickly as the heavy rain dripping off the side of the house. I made another incision in my wrist, watching in fascination as the skin opened up, releasing blood and pain, the only things I wanted to see or feel right then. I closed my eyes, almost glorying in the feeling of the newest cuts on my wrists, the feeling of agony and open skin.

I remembered Gobber, yelling at me in the forge today over a stupid bit of blood soaking through my sleeve, and I gave myself a third cut. I remembered my mom's look of betrayal and disappointment, and I did it a fourth time, because I knew that there was only one true way to feel better, one way to escape all the pain, and that was to cause more and more.

As the sky began to slowly lighten, I slipped the knife back in my sleeve and rose to my feet, opening the front door and walking carefully back inside. Both Mom and Toothless normally woke early, and Toothless would be eager for a morning flight when he was fully awake: I had to bandage the cuts and get my armor on quickly, before these new cuts were noticed by anyone.

I went to the kitchen first, rummaging in the cabinets looking for the bandages before remembering I'd hidden a few upstairs, for when I started cutting and I really needed them. Grateful for my foresight, I was about to pull my hand out of the cabinet and head for the stairs when three loud crashes made me jump and hit my hand on the wooden cabinet top. I yanked my hand out, scattering dishes everywhere.

"Shit," I mumbled, mostly to myself as I held my bruised left hand with my right, bolting into the sitting room, clear across it and opening up the door. I thought I heard the sounds of Mom and Toothless stirring as I left but I didn't bother to check – I just ran onward until I reached the crowd gathering at the docks and I saw the reason for the commotion: a huge ship was sailing towards our island, the black Bog-Burglar sail flapping in the ocean wind.

I felt like I could have kicked myself for forgetting – the Bog-Burglars' five-year peace-treaty renewal. I had meant to start preparing for their arrival three days ago, but it had slipped my mind because of everything else that had been going on since.

"It's just the Bog-Burglars," I murmured to myself, relieved. "They're friendly, they won't be…" and then I stopped cold, staring at the sail again, thinking over my own words. Five years. They hadn't been here in five years.

And the last time they had been here…

My eyes slid to the white sail just beneath the black one: the white one featured a bright red dragon, impaled upon the point of a sword, and my throat went suddenly dry. Villagers were turning around to stare at me, silently demanding my order. The ship was still a ways out, and they might not have spotted the dragons yet, but that could change at any moment.

I pulled at my sleeve to give myself something to focus on as I considered the best course of action. Hide the dragons? Show them the dragons? I looked up at Hookfang, perched on the rooftop of Snotlout's house. Stormfly and Astrid, standing right next to me. Astrid was staring at me, too, but she didn't look expectant, just rather worried. She opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head as Drago jumped to the forefront of my mind.

My dad would never have shown the Bog-Burglars the dragons, and it would be madness if I did so, especially after what had happened the last time Vikings from another tribe got wind of dragons on Berk. I scanned the crowd with my eyes, looking for Toothless maybe, or Cloudjumper, but wherever those two were, they were not here.

My first instinct was to hide the dragons. To bundle them all up in the cove and hide out with them, leave the responsibility of the village to Astrid, maybe, or somebody who was infinitely more capable than I was. I had been drawing my own blood for the past half hour, and this did not inspire any confidence within myself.

"Alright, listen up." My voice was not as commanding as my dad's, and never would be, but it did draw some attention: a lot of the Vikings looked away from the oncoming ship, choosing to focus on me instead. "The Bog-Burglars haven't been here for five years, and a lot has changed for us in that time. Naturally, they're gonna be a little scared by the fact that we've befriended the dragons that we were fighting the last time they saw us. Thing is, we can't hide the dragons. The evidence of their presence here is spread out all over the island of Berk – they're inevitably going to question why we have stables, landing areas, fire prevention, and all-you-can-eat feeding stations." I paused for a moment as I eyed the Vikings staring at me. "Maybe not that last one," I shrugged, and a couple people made noises of offense while quite a few more tittered.

"Problem is, I don't think they'd react well to me just shoving Toothless in their faces and saying 'he won't eat you, I promise'. But I am thinking that we should hide the dragons, at least for a short while. Once the usual pleasantries and greetings have been exchanged, we'll lead out the dragons, I'll show them Toothless and it'll be okay. Okay?" I looked hopefully around at my village. Nobody seemed to have much confidence in this plan.

Of course they didn't, an unbidden voice in my head whispered. You suggested it, remember?

That voice, that tiny little pinprick of doubt, had left me alone for almost three years – such a long time without it that I'd forgotten exactly how unpleasant it could be, exactly how uncomfortable and embarrassed the words made me. I shifted anxiously from foot to foot as I considered their reactions. It was the only plan I had, and I could tell that some people were just biting their tongues for my sake.

"Okay, then," I pressed on, determined to carry on with the only plan of action I had. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Bertha reminds me of Dagur in this chapter, and Hiccup is a tad quick-tempered. But given what happened to him yesterday, I can forgive him. **

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"Hiccup." Astrid caught up to me as I was trying to shepherd the dragons into the cove, a few of the villagers tagging along to help.

"What's up?" I frowned at her for a second before my attention was recaptured by a Nightmare and a Timberjack arguing over who got the better spot.

By the time the dragon fight was sorted out and every dragon had found a comfortable spot, I'd lost Astrid in the crowd, but gained a new problem: for some reason, Toothless appeared nervous, shaky and unwilling to leave my side. Whenever we had to part, he was normally pretty good at keeping the other dragons calm while waiting for me to come back. This time, he seemed jumpy and frightened, in the same way he had after Drago Bludvist and the battle of the alphas, and…

I closed my eyes as memories threatened to resurface, shoving them down. Toothless was no wimp, and he had never been scared of the enemy dragons, or even Drago himself. It had taken me a long time to realize that he was scared of me. Not scared of me, precisely, or what I could do to him. More scared that I would withhold forgiveness, or hold a grudge against him for what he had done.

But it wouldn't make any sense for him to revert back to that. I had told him a million times over that I forgave him; there was no room for grudges in a friendship as deep and sincere as ours.

In the days following the battle, when he'd feared my hatred, he had seemed slightly wary of being around me, but this was different. Now he seemed unwilling to leave me alone.

I gave him a reassuring pat on the nose just before I turned and left the cove. "I'll be back for you soon. Just keep the other dragons out of fights until then, okay?" Thor knew that Hookfang needed all the help he could get in that category.

Toothless made a low sound in his throat, like he was protesting, but Astrid returned again, distracting me. She was holding her axe in one hand, and walking oddly, like at any moment she might suddenly have to go into battle stance and fight for her life. "Hiccup, are you alright? You're bleeding."

"Am I?" I glanced down only once, to check the cut still soaking through my sleeve, and mentally swore myself out. Damn my habits of brooding after every cut. I needed to bandage them and get my armor on as soon as possible, but the Bog-Burglars were already almost here; I wouldn't have time. Besides, even if I did, what exactly was I going to say?

"_Sorry, folks, but your chief is a mentally unstable basket case who slices open his own skin whenever he can't deal with things. He was doing it just this morning and now he's gotta go patch himself up. Try not to start a war with the other tribe while I'm gone!" _

Yeah. No thank you.

I shrugged it off, rolling my shoulders back and pulling my sleeves even farther down, pressing them into my wrists, hoping they'd effectively soak up the blood. I'd just have to meet with the chief, and hope for the best.

I was pretty much prepared when Bertha jumped out of the boat; I'd do what my dad always did, walk forward in that powerful way of his, extend my hand, ask them how the trip was, engage in a few minutes' small talk and eventually lead them around to the Great Hall for the signing of the peace treaty.

Bertha looked around, her hands on her hips as I walked towards her. Her tiny daughter, Camicazi, had grown a bit since I'd last seen her, but her mischievous smile was still the same. I gave her a wave of recognition before extending my hand for Bertha's.

The chieftainess looked me coolly up and down. "Where's Stoick?"

I felt my hand drop slightly, and my mouth went dry. I couldn't make it move. It would've been easy, really, for anyone but me to have just told them the truth. But the words stuck in my throat. "Um…uh…" I started fidgeting with my sleeve, pulling my hand fully back down, by my side, and struggling just to spit out the words. I'd have given anything for ten minutes with a knife. I'd have twin cuts on both wrists, but maybe I'd be able to speak again when I was through.

I heard somebody behind me clearing their throat loudly and when I turned, I saw Gobber walking forward, reaching for Bertha's shoulder.

I bit down on my lip, so hard I tasted blood. It tasted good. The pain cleared my head and I stepped forward slightly, as if daring Gobber to come get me away from this. I was supposed to be the chief. I couldn't let other people baby me, or take care of my duties while I was here. "He's dead."

Bertha frowned, and I could tell in her eyes that she truly was upset. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man. May the gods honor him. His son too?"

I blinked, feeling rather stupid suddenly and wishing I had just backed down and let Gobber take care of things. "No…I'm his son. Remember?"

"Hiccup?" Bertha looked aghast. "Oh…you've…grown. Quite a bit."

I tried not to look as embarrassed as I felt, although I'm pretty sure my cheeks were about as red as a Monstrous Nightmare's scales as it was. "Yeah, um…I…yeah." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly.

Bertha continued to stare at me, with ill-disguised and unflattering surprise. I mean, sure, I'd started out little, but was it really so unbelievable for me to be as tall as I was now?

"So." I clasped my hands together, instantly regretting this movement as my sleeves scratched at my wrists, aggravating the fresh cuts. "The peace treaty, then? Should we get on with that?"

That conversation counted as small talk, right? Granted, it hadn't gone like I'd wanted it to, but then, what did?

"Oh…yes," Bertha seemed to unfreeze herself long enough to follow me to the Great Hall. It was a little disconcerting, actually, to know that every eye in the village was fixed on me. I mean, really. I knew it was my first time dealing with another tribe as chief, but I was different now. I wasn't going to screw this up, not the way I normally did. Even I could keep what everyone called my "destructive nature" down for a day.

When we arrived at the Great Hall, I was relieved to find that the dragons who normally rested upon the ceiling or ate the food were gone, having followed the others to the cove, I hoped. I opened the double doors for Bertha, as was custom, and she followed me into the gloom.

Whoever had last left the Hall had put out the torches, and nobody else had lit them, so for a second, we were standing in total darkness until I found a torch and lit it, hanging it in the bracket. I turned back to Bertha, leading her to the center table, where the treaty was signed, and then remembered that I didn't even have the treaty out. Stammering out an excuse, I dashed to the back of the Hall, where the little piece of paper that was causing me so much stress was lying innocently in the middle of the table. I picked it up, but I didn't walk back to the table at once.

Instead, I leaned against the wooden bench, letting loose a long, low sigh. I was making a mess of things, and it was back to feeling like the fourteen-year-old kid who screwed everything up.

Why couldn't I do this right? It was just the Bog-Burglars, after all. They were close friends of ours, if you could consider people from another tribe friends. They had fought alongside us in several wars, and they were our trusted allies. Yet I was still nervous.

I was twenty years old, and I had left the shy, stammering kid behind long ago, yet he seemed to be taking my place again. I felt like I was shrinking under the village's gaze as I walked back to the table clutching the parchment.

"Good, good." Bertha nodded happily, looking first at my hands and then down at the table. "Where's the dragon's blood?"

"The…the what?" My heart skipped a beat.

"The dragon's blood," she responded. "It is tradition for the Bog-Burglars and the Hooligans to renew their treaty using dragon's blood. It is our custom."

I winced. "Um…don't you think that's sort of barbaric?"

Camicazi gave me a stony look. "We're barbarians."

"You've already discontinued the use of dragon's blood ink?" Bertha shook her head in disappointment. "Pity."

I set the peace treaty carefully down on the table, tugging the pot of squid ink out of my holster and setting it down on the table beside the paper. "We'll just use regular ink this time – we're a little short on dragon's blood."

Bertha drew herself up to her full height, her breast heaving in outrage. "Absolutely not!"

"What?"

"I cannot trust you to keep the peace if we do not sign in blood! That is how our ancestors did it, and that shall be how I do it."

I could feel my temper beginning to rise, which was odd for me. The dragons weren't even being threatened yet, and I was already ready to invite the Bog-Burglars to leave. "We've been allies – _friends!_ – for years! Do you really think I'm going to change that, and start a war with another island, and a better chief, just because we're not signing in the preferred brand of _ink_?"

Bertha seemed to calm, looking a bit thoughtful. I regarded her curiously for a second, and she did the same of me until her expression relaxed.

"Very well," she said softly, but she never took her steely gaze away from mine. "We will use your…weak ink."

I nodded at her, picking up the charcoal stick. I had won the battle…this time.


End file.
